The Phoenix's Apprentice
by Ryah Ignis
Summary: The friendship of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall as seen through the eyes of Minerva. Albus Dumbledore may be dead, but he certainly won't be forgotten.


"You?"

It was only after the words left her mouth that she noticed the venom laced in that one syllable. By then, it was too late. It wouldn't have mattered anyway: The man standing in front of her could easily smash the mental barriers of anyone he chose to.

"Yes, Minerva, me," he replied lazily, a smile crossing his face. "It's unprecedented, I know, but the Minister has spoken. The deputy headmistress will not succeed the headmaster in this case."

Minerva tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Albus made it clear that the Ministry wasn't to meddle at Hogwarts."

"But you knew, didn't you Minerva, that there would be a day when the Ministry stood but Professor Dumbledore did not?"

He watched her expression carefully. Then the serpentine smile widened.

"You never saw this coming, did you? You thought he would stand forever? Even Rome had to fall."

"He trusted you!" she spat furiously.

"It was his mistake. Friendship and trust did not, in the end, help him survive the killing curse."

"You—"

Minerva's wand leapt eagerly to her hand. She'd been waiting since that night on the Astronomy Tower for this.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Minerva."

"Because you're a coward, Severus."

His face darkened on the word, but he made no move against her.

"Perhaps. But you will notice, Minerva, that I am on top. As short lived as this position may be, I will enjoy it," he hissed, taking a step in her directions, his hand twitching slightly towards his robes, but he knew better than to curse her.

Minerva no longer doubted that this was a duel she might lose. If the man had taken down Albus, then this was a gamble at best, but the Gryffindor inside of her pawed at the ground, ready to be unleashed. Still, as much as it pained her pride to admit it, he was right.

"I have nothing to lose, Severus. My family is gone, Albus is gone. You cannot take anything from me. You cannot control me and I am far more dangerous outside of Hogwarts then within. Tell me, then, what you could possibly use against me."

He shook his head slightly, as if finding it hard to believe that she hadn't seen it.

"And what will happen to your students if you leave or step out of line?"

He had her landlocked, no escape in slight. Minerva would never do anything to bring harm to her students. She stowed her wand back in her robes and headed towards the eagle that guarded the headmaster's office

"I'll collect my things, then," she said frostily, meeting Snape straight in those cold, long dead eyes. "Blood flavored lollipop."

"I will be changing the password, Minerva!" he called after her.

Ignoring him, Minerva ascended the staircase into her—Albus's—Snape's office. As soon as she could get off the steadily moving staircase, she ran for Albus's portrait, dozing in his frame.

"Albus! Albus, wake up!"

Albus started and hit his head off the top of the frame. Rubbing at it, he looked up at her.

"Ah, Minerva. Good to see you."

"Snape's been made headmaster…Albus, he threatened the students. My students! Not his, no matter what the confounded Ministry says otherwise. What can I do?"

"Let him have the position?" Dumbledore suggested mildly.

"Let him—but you're just a portrait, you're not Albus, not really, he wouldn't say that!"

The portrait sighed.

"Maybe you are right, Minerva. I am but paint and wood. Hardly someone to go to with a possibly life-threatening situation."

Minerva touched her wand to her temple and felt the cool, tickling sensation of the tendrils of memory leaving her brain as she pushed open the cabinet door to the Pensieve. Wishing, if only for a moment, to escape into happier times, she dove inside.

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Eleven year old Minerva shivered, half from excitement and fear and half from cold. She knew she was supposed to be standing still, but she couldn't stop herself from bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. It was possibly the most defining moment of her life, and she wanted to look dignified, but she could hardly contain herself.

The Transfiguration professor, Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, unfurled the list of students and began to read them off one by one.

"Andrews, Clara."

The timid looking girl pulled the hat over her ears, only to be promptly sorted into Gryffindor.

Minerva let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. If Clara Andrews could be sorted into Gryffindor, then fearless Minerva McGonagall certainly could.

Dumbledore went through the list, and Minerva was thanking her lucky stars that her name wasn't Zabini like the poor boy a few paces to her right.

"McGonagall, Minerva!"

Minerva walked up to the hat and her vision went black as it covered her eyes. She was glad; the intense stares of the students would have ended her.

"McGonagall….McGonagall…I have not heard this name before…but of course. I see now. Half-bloods are becoming increasingly common, my dear Minerva. Ah yes, the matter at hand. Your aversion to Slytherin is not unfounded, Minerva. Perhaps there will come a day when there are not enough purebloods left to populate this house and I will place those of 'unclean' blood there, but I will not do that to you today, Minerva. I see that there is a rift between my houses, hmm? I will heed your wishes. Slytherin is no place for a mind like yours. It is not unlike a student that I sorted long ago. It was he that placed this hat on your head, you know.'

"This is great," Minerva thought, finally working out the mental connection could be used to send words as well as thoughts and feelings. "Really, it's fantastic talking to someone who knew the founders, but I really need to know what house I belong to!"

"Well, certainly not Hufflepuff," came the disgruntled reply. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, so perhaps Ravenclaw? Ah, but you're also one of the fiercest minds I've ever met. Where to put you?"  
What followed was a battle of wills. The hat was adamant about placing her in Ravenclaw and Minerva wanted nothing more than to be a Gryffindor. Every move the hat made was countered, and after about five minutes of banter, they had come to a standstill.

"Congratulations, Minerva. You're the first hatstall in a decade," the hat finally conceded. "I suppose that in itself merits the house you want. GRYFFINDOR!"

Minerva hopped off the stool and placed the hat into the waiting hands of Professor Dumbledore. He smiled warmly at her.

"Welcome to Gryffindor, Miss McGonagall."

Minerva grinned, and the memory melted away.

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Twelve year old Minerva sat in the classroom that she would grow to know well. She was the only one paying attention at the moment. The two Ravenclaw girls to her left were exchanging notes under the desk and the Gryffindor boys behind her were throwing wadded up bits of parchment at each other.

"Mr. Weston, Mr. Cook, if you could settle?" said Professor Dumbledore without looking up. "And Miss Preston and Miss Myracle, I hope those are your Transfiguration notes."

The girls sheepishly tucked the note back in Amy Preston's bag and the boys crumpled the two papers formerly used as ammunition in their fists.

"Does anyone know why we can't transfigure objects into food?"

Minerva's hand was the only one to shoot into the air. Professor Dumbledore did not look surprised.

"Miss McGonagall?"

"Food possesses a quality that other matter does not. It can provide nourishment. When you transfigure, you can't add something on a molecular level that wasn't there in the first place."

"But what about animals? Teacups don't have hearts but seventh years can change them into mice!" said Weston triumphantly, hoping to stump her.

Professor Dumbledore looked as if he was about to answer, but Minerva beat him to it.

"The transfigurations don't last. Eventually, the magic stops and the animal reverts to its original state. As for how it happens, Professor Greene of Salem Witch's Institute put it very nicely. He said 'It's magic.' Unlike Muggle science, you can't put a label on it. It does things that defy all logic.

Dumbledore nodded at her. "Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss McGonagall. That is all for class today, I think."

Minerva picked up her things and headed for the door.

"Miss McGonagall?"

She turned around. Professor Dumbledore beckoned her over with one slightly crooked finger. Minerva hurried over, her bag swinging on her shoulder.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do you like Transfiguration?"  
"Well, sir, a truthful answer is hardly to be expected when one is talking to their Transfiguration professor, but I do, sir."

He laughed for a good few seconds and then took off his glasses to wipe his eyes, still chortling.

"Forgive me; most of my colleagues don't share your wit. Something about being professional, I believe." His eyes twinkled with good humor, but his gaze suddenly grew serious once more. "But do you have a passion for it, Miss McGonagall? If you don't, then there is no reason to continue this discussion."

"I do!" Minerva promised fervently.

"Do you wish to train as an Animagus?"

Minerva's eyes went wide with shock and she sat down heavily in the armchair that Professor Dumbledore conjured. Her bag hit her leg, her Potions book digging into her calf, but she couldn't be bothered by the pain.

"Y-yes!"

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"You're very nearly there, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore encouraged, his eyes fixated on the young woman with her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers clenched into fists.

He'd long ago abandoned the stuffy 'Miss McGonagall' in favor of Minerva. Horace Slughorn had also done this, trying to recruit the clever young woman into his Slug Club, but Minerva had no patience for the stubby man collecting trophies for his office walls.

"You can't just think about it," he said. "You must become the animal, Minerva."

Fifteen year-old Minerva concentrated even harder, if it was possible. She pictured Dumbledore's office from the point of view from something four legged. She wouldn't know what form her Animagus would take until she actually transformed.

Minerva's tail lashed in impatience. Tail? She opened her mouth to cry out in triumph, but all that came out was a meow. She looked up at Professor Dumbledore. His eyes were glowing as he reached down to pat her on the head. Minerva leapt up on to the desk, enjoying her newfound abilities. She purred, still overly pleased with herself. Her mind started to slip away from her, venturing away from how to get back to human form to where she could get her next meal. Professor Dumbledore—was that his name? Memories were growing fuzzy around the edges—leaned closer.

"Minerva? You need to transform back now."

Somewhere deep in the recesses of the cat's mind, the word 'Minerva' struck a chord, but the cat quickly stamped out the foolish thought. The old man's beard dangled enticingly in front of her. With a delighted meow, the cat swiped at it. The man detached her claws and set her back down on the desk, brow furrowing in worry.

"This is worse than I thought. Minerva, can you hear me?"

The cat flicked her ears. There that word was again. Minerva. What a strange sound. She yawned and settled on the desk. The man's beard would have made a good soft bed, but he didn't like it being touched. The man hurried to the fireplace behind his desk and tossed a handful of dirt into the flames. The cat jumped into the air, fur standing completely on end as the flames roared green.

"Alexander"

A face leapt into the fire, glaring at the old man.

"Merlin, Albus, it's ten o' clock at night! What could you possibly want?"

The cat stretched, already bored by this new phenomenon.

"Could you just get me Robert and Malcolm McGonagall?"

The other man, the one who strangely seemed to reside in the fireplace, groaned. Ashes flew as he closed his eyes.

"Aren't they in your house, Albus? What could you possibly be wanting them for at this time of night?

"Alexander!"

"Fine, fine," grumbled the other. "You owe me, Albus."

The man settled himself next to the cat. She flopped on her back and stared up at him through warm brown eyes. The man sighed and patted her gently on the head again. They remained like that until the door opened again to admit the fire-man and two boys.

"I have them, Albus," he said wearily.

"Robert, Malcolm," greeted the old man.

The two boys, who seemed familiar to the cat, exchanged perturbed looks at the usage of their first names.

"Hello, Professor," said the taller of the two, his arm slung protectively around his younger brother's shoulders.

"Your sister has run into a slight problem with her Animagus transformation," he began apologetically.

"Minnie!" cried the younger one, tearing away from his brother's grip.

He raced immediately to the cat sitting on the table. She blinked curiously at him and gave a small hiss when he wrapped his arms around her middle and hoisted her into his arms. Something about the word 'Minnie' made her want to scratch the boy, but she felt a surge of horror at the thought.

"She's stuck that way?" asked the older boy.

The old man heaved a sigh. "Yes, Robert, unless she reverses the change herself. That's what makes Animagus transformation so dangerous.

"You let her?" he gasped. "…sir."

The man waved away the formalities.

"The only known cure is to remind her why she should return to her human form. I thought the two of you could help."

"Set her down, Malcolm," ordered the older one.

The littler boy complied and the older boy got down on his knees. The cat observed them both lazily. She wanted to get back to her nap.

"Minerva? Minnie, you're human, remember?"

The younger boy was in tears.

"Minnie? Minnie, come back!"

Minerva's conscience slowly lost the fuzzy quality and her mind grew clearer. Suddenly, she was looking down, rather than up, at her brothers.

"Minerva!" cried Robert, flinging himself into his sister's arms, unusually revealing his emotions.

Malcolm followed, still blubbering. He couldn't be blamed. He was, after all, only twelve. Minerva, however, had eyes only for her Transfiguration professor.

"Excellently done, Miss McGonagall."

Minerva noticed that he went back to calling her Miss McGonagall in the presence of both Professor Bones and her brothers.

"Thank you, sir," she beamed.

"Time to get you registered, then," said Professor Dumbledore, walking to his desk and selecting a quill.

The memory melted away into blackness, only to be replaced once more.

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"Professor?"

Eighteen year old Minerva stood at the open doorway of his office. She had a full view of the papers stacked haphazardly on his desk, some dangerously close to falling into the fire. He'd all but disappeared behind them. The only thing that showed was the top of his head, now more generously heaped with gray than ever before.

"Ah, Minerva," he said, emerging from the pile with the slightly boyish grin that he always wore on his face. "All packed up, then?"

"Yes, sir. I just wanted to say goodbye before the End-of-Term Feast. Things get quite hectic after that…"

"Of course, my dear," Professor Dumbledore said. "You have missing socks to find, and last minute homework assignments to turn in. I don't think you need to worry about that, though, do you?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"No," Minerva said cheerfully, but a bittersweet feeling came into her stomach. "Have you seen the latest copy of _Transfiguration Today_ yet?"

Professor Dumbledore rifled through the stack directly in front of him. How he was finding anything, she didn't know, but it took him less than a minute to extract the magazine, the glossy cover dominated by Professor Greene.

"Congratulations. Most Promising Newcomer is an exceptional award. The Ministry is lucky to have you."

"Thanks," Minerva replied, her hand still on the doorframe. It struck her just how much she would miss the castle with its graceful grandeur, the neatly trimmed grounds and most of all this office. "I'm going to miss this place."

"That is precisely what I wanted to talk to you about, Minerva. Professor Dippet is growing old, and is talking of retirement. In two, maybe three years, the Transfiguration post will be open once more. I want the best teaching here at Hogwarts, Minerva, and you are the best."

Minerva gaped at him, scrambling for words. Professor Dumbledore got up and expertly maneuvered around the teetering piles of paperwork. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her.

"What say you, Minerva?"

"Of course!"

The memory swirled and faded into the past.

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I recently heard of an opening at Hogwarts and would like to apply. I am young, but I am a registered Animagus and I received all Os at my N.E.W.T level classes. Thank you for your consideration.

Best regards,

Minerva McGonagall

Twenty-year-old Minerva turned the letter bearing the regal royal seal with an M over in her hands. It was a prestigious promotion; bound to catapult her higher in the Ministry, but it hadn't taken the young woman very long to realize that the Ministry was going sour. There were far too many corrupt officials scrambling over each other in an attempt to climb higher and overly ambitious coworkers to deal with. Above all, she missed Hogwarts so much that it was like a constant ache in her stomach to accompany the regret. _Oh, Dougal. _No. She couldn't think about that now.

"Minerva?"

Elphinstone Urquart leaned casually against the doorframe of her ridiculously puny office. Minerva raised a hand in greeting. His eyes fell immediately on the parchment bearing the Ministry seal.

"Minerva, this is great!" he cried, bounding into her office, accidentally knocking over an organized stack of files on a rising Dark Wizard.

Minerva gave a small smile. If there was anything she'd miss about her job in London, it would be Elphinstone. He was completely unafraid of making a fool of himself, kind and bumbling. For a second, regret tugged at her again, but Minerva thought longingly of the high towers of Hogwarts to convince herself that the decision she was making was the right one.

"I don't think I'm going to take the promotion."

He faltered, mid celebration and his face fell.

"You like working in this cubicle?"

It was a joke between them. He called her office a cubicle and she would argue that it had a door.

"I hate it," Minerva said honestly. "I owled Professor Dumbledore. He offered me the Transfiguration post back in seventh year, and I've never known him to go back on his word."

"Oh. That—that's great. You've always been great with the new workers, showing them the ropes and all. I'm sure you'll be a great professor," he said kindly.

Clearing her throat, Minerva shuffled her papers and restacked them for something to do. Elphinstone tugged on his collar.

"We could meet in Hogsmeade, every once in a while when you're not busy grading papers," he offered awkwardly.

"That would be great!" she said.

An owl flew through the window, interrupting their conversation.

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Elphinstone with a forced smile.

Minerva opened the letter.

Dear Minerva,

If you hadn't owled me, then I would have been forced to kidnap my Transfiguration professor. Term starts September 1st, as you know, but could you get in by August 15th? I'm afraid my lesson plans might be a bit difficult to read.

My best,

Albus Dumbledore

PS: Minerva, if we're going to work together, you ought to start calling me Albus.

Minerva's memory swirled away.

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Isobel McGonagall, senselessly chattering on about town business, was completely unaware that she had caused her daughter pain. Minerva slumped over the letter, sobbing. She'd been so _stupid_, to think Dougal had kept her in his heart as she had kept him in hers. She had left him without reason. He was perfectly entitled to marriage, especially three years after the fact, but the pain lingered.

"Minerva?"

She sat up and tried to blink away the tears. Calming her shaking voice, she answered.

"Yes?"

The door was eased open. Albus walked in, his glasses perched on his nose and his eyes focused on the paper in his hand.

"Your teaching assessment just—Minerva?"

He had seen her puffy, red eyes. Minerva harshly wiped away the remainder of her tears. Albus took a few more steps into the room and sat down on the chair opposite hers that she interrogated troublemakers in.

"Minerva, are you all right?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself.

"Of course, of course. I just got a little carried away."

Albus looked skeptical and his eyes darted to the letter on the desk. Minerva, aware of his ability to read even the worst of handwriting upside down, snatched it away.

"Your mother's handwriting was always very distinct, my dear," he said softly, reaching across the table to take her hand. "Not bad news, I hope."

"No, Albus, not bad news at all," she said heavily. "It's wonderful, really. I should be happy."

"Obviously you are not," Albus said.

"No, I'm not," she agreed quietly, looking down at her clasped hands, which Albus had placed his hand over top of when it became clear she was not going to unfold them.

"Minerva, I think you'll find it best to talk about this now. Secrets…heartbreak…it doesn't do to lock them up,' he said wisely.

"I took a summer before my job at the Ministry to spend some time with my brothers and get my things in order. I went down to the village to get the meat my father had ordered from the butcher. I ran into Mr. MacGregor's son, Dougal. We talked for a while; he invited me to dinner that night. And then…It spiraled much further than I ever intended. I never meant to get in that deep, never meant to actually grow to care for him."

Her eyes grew misty and her throat closed over. Minerva furiously blinked away the tears and cleared her throat before continuing.

"Whether I wanted it or not, one thing led to another and…He proposed after we'd been seeing each other for about five months. It was so unexpected, so sudden, but I said yes. I loved him. I'd never been happier.

"That night, I couldn't stop thinking about it. My mother locked her wand up when she married my father because he didn't accept her the way she was. They cared deeply for each other, but the damage that was done by her confession was too deep for their relationship to ever be 'normal.' I didn't want that to happen to Dougal and I and any children we might have had. I had a good job offered for me at the Ministry. I had a future that seemed tailor made, and that future could not include Dougal. I told him no the next morning without a single reason why and I've regretted it ever since. He's getting married. Mum told me."

Albus looked sympathetically on as the words tumbled out of her mouth, the tight feeling in her chest bubbling as she finally let someone else know what she had been thinking. Albus was a good listener, inclining his head to tell he was interested, smiling softly when he found something amusing.

When she'd finally finished, breathing as if she had run a marathon, Albus began. In a steady voice, he painted the story of his sister, Ariana. The headmaster's words were smooth and rhythmic as if he'd memorized them long ago. He told of boyhood foolishness, of his desire to run off and leave his family to deal with the member no one could know about. This lead to his friendship with Gellert Grindelwald and scheming for a better world for his sister.

"But it wasn't for her," Albus said bitterly, his eyes cast down on his hands, not daring to meet hers. "It was never about Ariana, I can see it now looking back. I was a fool, Minerva."

When he reached the part about the duel, Minerva cringed. It was almost as if she knew what would happen. His voice trembled as he spoke of her death.

"We all had our wands drawn and before I knew it we were dueling. Aberforth against Gellert. I knew it was a duel that he would lose, but I didn't know whose side I was meant to be on. My brother's or my best friend's. One for the good of one, the other for the good of many. I tried to restrain both of them instead of making a choice. One of Aberforth's stinging hexes nearly hit me. He never intended it to go my way, I think, but at the time I didn't take his poor aim into account. I assumed he was attacking me. Somehow it became a three-way duel. I didn't know who my enemy was. No one did, and that was when Arianna came. She wanted us to stop, and when the dust cleared…she was dead. To this day, I never knew who it was that killed her. I have lived with this story on my chest for longer than you have been alive, Minerva."

He stood up, his eyes on the grandfather clock behind her desk. It had gotten late while secrets had been revealed.

"Thank you for telling me this, Albus."

"I trust you, Minerva."

He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder the way a grandfather might. The memory disappeared in blots, just like the rest.

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Thirty year old Minerva McGonagall strode along the corridors of Hogwarts, frightening students out of her way with the force of her glare. Just five minutes ago, Pomona had offhandedly mentioned Albus's new interviewee for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post—Tom Riddle. Not only did Tom give Minerva the creeps, but he was inexplicably linked to the strange disappearances and murders. Word was, he was calling himself "Lord Voldemort" now, and he had delved deeper into the Dark Arts than any man ever had.

On another note, the Defense post was not vacant.

Two first years, Alice Prewett and her constant slouched over shadow, Frank Longbottom, scurried out of her way. Alice threw a curious look over her shoulder, but the irate professor noticed nothing as she stormed away. _In this school…with my students…_ There was no doubt in her mind that it had been Tom behind all of the strangeness recently. People like him sent up warning flags in Minerva's mind, and the scarily charming Tom Riddle was no exception.

She was just about to speak the password when the stone eagle rotated into the floor, carrying with it Tom Riddle. Though his outward façade was perfectly composed, it didn't take a Legilimens to feel the anger coming off him in waves. Minerva paused, not quite sure to say to the man she hadn't seen since her first year. His features, which in her nineteen year old memory had been handsome, had deteriorated into a pallid complexion and brown eyes now tinged with a different, more sinister color that Minerva had no time to identify. She didn't want to look in his eyes too long.

"Minerva McGonagall, is it?" he asked smoothly, stepping off the staircase and offering her his hand.

Minerva eyed him warily for a few seconds, but when it became apparent that he was not going to attack, she took it. His hand was ice cold within her own, but firm.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked.

She could care less how the self-styled 'Lord Voldemort's' health was doing. She was simply curious about his appearance.

"Fine, fine," he said dismissively, waving the question away. "You're Dumbledore's protégée, then?"

Minerva had not missed the sneer, nor could she mistake the flashing in his eyes that colored them unmistakably red.

"He mentored me, yes. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself his protégée, though. What are you doing here, Mr. Riddle?"

"I was interviewing for the Defense post, but now that I see you, I have a…let's say…_proposition for_ you."

She raised one eyebrow, something she'd perfected in years of intimidating students, waiting for him to go on. Riddle was no schoolboy, though, so the glance did not concern him.

"You're a talented witch. You're sensible, too. The first hatstall in more than a decade. Between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I think?"

"No. Ravenclaw."

He sighed, not audibly, but part of him seemed to deflate.

"I am looking for someone with your skill set, Professor McGonagall. You see, I am putting together a group of witches and wizards of great talent to stop the unfortunate stories of Muggleborn and half-blood children being abandoned by their parents from happening."

"You're starting an Act to get them taken away from their families?" Minerva asked, but even as she said it, she knew that wasn't it."

"It's a little more complicated than that," he said, smiling.

It did little to comfort Minerva. The smile showed his slightly feral teeth and didn't quite reach his eyes. There was more warmth in the coldest Arctic winter than in his face. She felt a shiver go up her spine as she understood. It wasn't enough to remove the wizards from the Muggles. Not for Riddle.

"That's genocide," she whispered.

"Genocide is a rather crude term, don't you agree?"

"It's a word that fits the crime," she spat. "Get out of here, _Tom_. I'd never bow down to someone as delusional as you."

He hissed and turned away, but not before he got the last word.

"You'll regret this one day, Minerva."

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"Alexander is dead," Albus said gravely, his eyes locked on hers.

"Dead?" This was the first she'd heard of it. "Alexander is dead?"

"I'm afraid so. He contracted Dragon Pox late last night and managed to get himself to Poppy before he passed out. She Flooed him immediately to Saint Mungo's, but there was very little they could do. I wanted to tell you firsthand. You know how fast gossip travels amongst children."

"I didn't think Dragon Pox could kill Alexander Bones."

Albus twisted his fingers and slowly worked his jaw. Minerva could tell he was debating with himself.

"Just tell me, Albus," she said wearily. "Secrets never did anybody any good."

He rose to his feet and paced the well-worn path behind his desk, his hands clasped together.

"It was not Dragon Pox that killed Professor Bones."

"The Healers—"

"—The Healers know nothing! They cannot sense his magic like I can, Minerva. Tome leaves an unforgettable trace behind, especially when he curses."

"You think he cursed Alexander because he wants you to have no choice but to hire him?"

"I don't think so,' he murmured in reply, his steps growing quicker again as they always did when he was figuring something out. "I think he did it out of spite, but there is another reason. I don't think this bodes well for the education of our students in Defense."

Minerva rose and forced the headmaster back into his chair. It was dizzying to follow him back and forth. He resorted to tapping his fingers on his desk.

"He's planning something. I was going to meet you when Riddle stopped me and asked me to join him. He's planning mass killings of Muggles."

Albus got again before she could stop him and resumed his furious pacing.

"But he asked you, a half-blood, to join him?"

"Tom is a half-blood himself, Albus," Minerva pointed out.

Albus stopped dead in his tracks. Minerva could practically hear the gears whirring in his head.

"He wants payback," said Albus slowly, still working it out. "He doesn't want anyone else to wind up like he was, a freak in an orphanage."

"But genocide?" Minerva questioned. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

"Not for Tom."

The memory disappeared….

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Thirty-five year old Minerva picked up her quill and began crossing out words in James Potter's essay. His handwriting was atrocious and he and Sirius Black had taken to calling her 'Minnie', so she was more ruthless with the red ink than she normally would have been

Her fireplace roared green. Minerva checked the clock hanging behind her on the wall. Who would be Flooing at eleven?

"Yes?" she asked, striding over to the fireplace.

"Professor McGonagall? This is Cornelius Fudge, junior Minister. I was called to…um…oversee a—er—situation. Apparently there was an attack at a Robert McGonagall's house and we, er, wondered if you knew him."

"Get Albus."

The young man looked clueless. Minerva's patience for the bumbling junior Minster snapped.

"Albus Dumbledore! Tell him what you told me. I'll be right there."

Heart thumping wildly, Minerva grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and jumped into the flames. The swirling of the fire didn't bother her any more, but when she was a child, Robert would have to hold—no, she couldn't think about him now. She leapt out of the flames and missed the young man kneeling on the hearth by sheer luck.

"Where is he?"

The man—Fudge, did he say his name was?—gestured wordlessly at the drawing room and Minerva took off. She wrenched open the door and raced inside. A friendly looking Healer stood with a clipboard. Robert had been moved to the couch, but a bit of blood on the floor showed where he had been attacked. An Auror was pacing the scene.

"Robert!" gasped Minerva.

She dropped to her knees beside the couch, but he didn't respond. She already knew, but she had to be certain. With a small moan, she touched his wrist. It was cold, and what little warmth it had left was fading fast.

She ran to Malcolm, not even bothering to wonder why her other brother was there. To her relief, she could see his chest moving up and down through her tears.

"What happened?" she demanded of the Auror.

"This was found in his pocket, addressed to you."

The Auror passed over a note, red at the top from the cut on Robert's scalp. Minerva felt her blood run cold. Struggling to keep her fingers from shaking, Minerva took the letter.

_Regret is a terrible thing, isn't it, Minerva?_

Hating herself for it, the tears fell faster and thicker. The Auror, accustomed to the sight of grieving families, tactfully ignored her. The Healer tut-tutted quietly at a note on her pad.

"Let me in, Cornelius!"

"Professor, the only people allowed inside are family."

"Stand aside, Cornelius," said Albus's voice.

Even though his voice was muffled by the door, Minerva could hear the edge in it. The door flew open and Albus strode inside, striking an impressive figure in the grim scene. He knelt beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder and tugged the paper from her hand. His frown deepened with every word.

"Revenge?" he asked quietly.

"I never thought…" whispered Minerva.

Albus stood up, the note clutched in his fist.

"Auror Moody?"

"Professor Dumbledore," he replied with a slightly mocking tone.

"Robert's wife and daughter. Where are they?"

"The wife's dead, too. The daughter's in Saint Mungo's trying to deal with the stress."

Minerva got unsteadily to her feet and latched on to Albus's extended arm. She wasn't in a fit state to Apparate right now. The darkness engulfed her and the only thing she could feel was Albus tethering her to the ground…

They landed, hard, in the waiting room. The Welcome Witch took one look at Minerva and led her to the room where her niece was being kept. Athena was staring out the window when they arrived, eyes dull and lifeless.

"Thena," said Minerva, opening her arms.

The girl leapt off the bed and into her aunt's arms where she sobbed and sobbed. Minerva cradled her closer, trying not to dissolve into tears herself. When she'd finally stopped, Athena began to explain.

"The doorbell rang. Daddy—" here her voice cracked, but she continued. "—went to get it and a big man tried to fight him. Dad was quick, though, and put up a shield. Mum didn't like it, but she ran upstairs with me. Uncle Malcolm came in the side door and Mum told him what happened. He told us to stay in my room. Mum told me to hide so I went under the bed. There was a whole lot of screaming."

Minerva's fingernails dug into her palms so hard she drew blood. Athena's voice shook again. She looked so small, much like the first time Minerva had seen her.

_"Athena Ella McGonagall. She's named after you, Minnie," said Robert, placing the baby in her arms._

"Then the man came in. I was really scared, but Mum was really brave. She fought the man. She told me not to watch, but I did. The man hit her with a spell. There was a lot of green light. Then he cast a spell and I started to glow. He levitated my bed away from me. I got angry because he hurt Mummy and he got blasted out the door."

Albus looked intrigued by the young girl's use of underage magic, but he didn't press the questions. Athena's lip trembled.

"Is Uncle Malcolm going to be okay?"

"Yes," Minerva lied, pulling Thena into a hug again. In all honesty, she had no idea.

"What about Daddy? I haven't seen him but I know Mummy…"

She broke off and started crying again. Minerva cursed herself for not being there. She'd known Riddle had a bone to pick with her and yet as everything had gotten more dangerous, she'd shrugged it off. She'd been a fool to think Riddle wouldn't remember his promise. It was all her fault.

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"Tea, Minerva?"

"Something stronger would be appreciated, Albus," she muttered, still in a horrible mood following her brother's funeral.

Albus gave her a sharp stare before opening a cabinet and dumping some tea leaves into a pot. They were in the headmaster's quarters. Minerva was slightly uncomfortable, but Albus insisted that the matters they were about to discuss were far too important to be conducted in his office. The rooms were not furnished with useless objects like paintings. Instead, books and the few strange silver instruments that didn't fit in his office littered the shelves and tables He was no neater now than he had ben when Minerva was a student.

"I believe this marks the start of open warfare," Albus said grimly. "We never saw it because we were inside, but Auror Moody sent me this."

He pulled a crumpled photo form his pocket and smoothed it out. Minerva moved closer. The strange green symbol sucked her in. The thought of it hanging like an angel of death over her brother's house filled her with dread.

"I'd expected it," Albus said. "People have been disappearing for months now, but I'd hoped it was the desperate, erratic work of a madman."

"Riddle is a madman," growled Minerva, "but he's not desperate."

"The Ministry is not taking me seriously," he said, as close to annoyed as Minerva had ever seen him. "Millicent believes that the treat is unimportant and though she means well she's going to be the death of our world if we don't do something. I tried to speak to Cornelius, but he ignored me."

Minerva glanced over at her friend, mentor and colleague and registered just how much the news of impending war had aged him.

"What are we going to do, then?"

"I want to start a group of witches and wizards that cannot be corrupted by him. The Order of the Phoenix. You, Minerva, are going to be a part of it."

Minerva noticed that he did not ask whether or not she wanted to be in the Order. It wasn't a question. It would never be a question now that Robert was dead.

"Of course. What is there to do?"

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The years wore on, as did the war. The Ministry finally accepted that there was a Dark Wizard on the loose and that's when everything fell to pieces. Witches and wizards eloped amid the chaos; Muggles were murdered in their homes. The appearance of the skull and snake became known as the Dark Mark and took the place of many people's boggarts.

Life at Hogwarts, however, remained mostly unchanged. There was a certain amount of trepidation among the students, each one dreading the Ministry's seal on one of the letters delivered by owl post addressed to them. Minerva's fuse grew shorter and more students than ever sat unhappily in her office writing lines. The twinkle in Albus's eyes slowly dimmed. Pomona Sprout took to shepherding her students to and from the greenhouses as if Death Eaters would swoop from the skies like misshapen birds of prey and carry them off.

It was eleven years of sheer terror. Minerva graded papers at midnight with the aid of several cups of coffee so she wouldn't have to face the nightmares. Albus spent most days in his Pensieve trying to piece together the mystery.

They often sat together during those long hours in her office or his, saying nothing but enjoying the other's presence. It was during one of those evenings that Albus's wand spat yellow sparks. Minerva jerked her wand free of its holster, already on edge. Albus, too, came out of his stupor but for an entirely different reason.

"The Fidelius Charm," he breathed. "There's no need for it anymore."

Minerva snapped to attention. Albus conjured a Patronus.

"Alastor, check on Peter."

The phoenix rose into the air with an unearthly caw. Albus turned back to Minerva.

"I need to take care of something. Floo Millicent Bagnold and tell her I will be with her shortly and give this to Rubeus."

He scribbled something down on a sheaf of paper and handed it to her. Minerva knew better than to open it. He turned on his heel and half sprinted out the door. Minerva tossed the Floor Powder into the fireplace and stuck her head inside. Firecalling was always a horrible experience.

"Madam Bagnold?"

Minerva was greeted by the sight of a red-faced and grinning Millicent Bagnold. Judging by the goblet in her hand and the loud noises emitting form her office, the Minister was throwing a party.

"Albus wishes for me to announce him."

Minerva looked on disapprovingly as the Minister's grin grew even wider.

"That's wonderful! Albus has always been great fun…"

"Madam Bagnold, are you feeling alright?"

"Professor McGonagall, how could I not? Merlin, you're so uptight, not even celebrating on this fine, fine night! Goodbye, Professor!"

"Madam—"

The call was shut off and Minerva's head returned to her office. She was more confused than she had been before, but she set off with Hagrid's letter anyway. She didn't pass a single student on the way, which wasn't unusual. They were all probably enjoying the feast. She and Albus had retired early.

Minerva raised a hand to knock on Hagrid's front door, but Fang's barking did the job for her.

"P'fessor!" cried Hagrid, opening the door and grabbing her by both her hands to swing her around wildly. "Can yeh believe it? Jus' got the Prophet a moment ago!"

"Believe what?"

Hagrid released her upon sight of her sour expression and ran over to the table where a giant tankard sat. Apparently, he had the same idea as the Minister.

"Can I get yeh somethin' P'fessor?" he asked excitedly, shoving the Daily Prophet into her hands.

Minerva was too stunned by the headline to say anything. _HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED DEFEATED! _it proclaimed. Feeling suddenly faint, Minerva collapsed into the chair Hagrid offered her and ripped open the paper to read the story.

"Dead?"

"DEAD!" cried Hagrid, performing a jig that reminded her of the one Muggle film she had ever seen: The Wizard of Oz. She had seen in in the theater with her mother at the age of four.

Despite the height difference, Hagrid was reminiscent of a Munchkin as he skipped about crying "Dead!" Minerva half expected him to start singing.

"Here," she said, giving him the letter as she continued to read the article.

Somehow, Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord. Minerva was certain Albus would have an answer for how he had done it, but that was a question for another day. What would be done with the boy? Minerva smiled slightly, remembering the boy's vibrant green eyes. He had his dead mother's eyes.

Minerva was struck with a chilling realization. Albus had said once that he was fortifying a relative's house if something should go wrong. With a cat-like hiss, Minerva leapt to her feet and headed for Hogsmeade. She had to talk him out of leaving Harry.

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Albus vanished with a pop, leaving Minerva standing on the cold street of the suburban jungle otherwise known as Privet Drive. He hadn't told her what he was planning to do with the boy! Minerva prepared to run on her heel and vanish, too, but the sight of Harry lying there, so innocent, tugged at her heartstrings. Minerva crept up to the welcome mat where Harry lay. He was probably anything but welcome in this terrible neighborhood. His tiny fist closed around the envelope like it was a teddy bear. Minerva leaned down and slowly traced the lightning scar on his forehead with the gentle touch of a mother—a touch Minerva was certain he wouldn't be feeling for a long time. Harry James McGonagall had a nice ring to it. She smiled at the thought. She and Elphinstone had wanted children, but it hadn't been the right time with the war. Would it be that difficult to raise the boy that had saved them all? _Yes_, her logical side reasoned. Perhaps Albus's ridiculous idea of the boy growing up with a big head had merit. She wouldn't want the media honing in on him (especially that vicious recent graduate of Hogwarts, Rita Skeeter) and if she was to take the boy, they certainly would.

Accepting that she could not take in Harry, she started putting warming spells, protective enchantments and every ward that she could think of on the Boy-Who-Lived. As a last minute thought, she transfigured a fallen leaf into a real teddy bear, which she nestled in the boy's arms. Harry sighed, contented, and snuggled into his new friend.

"Good luck, Harry," she whispered before turning into a tabby cat and prowling into the night.

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She was far too old to be dealing with this sort of nonsense. There was another blasted war on the way, and Minerva was stuck in a hospital bed! She'd thought the Healers would simply let her go, but they were convinced she'd have a heart attack. As if! She'd fought in more battles than most people had even heard of. Surely getting hit with five stunners was nothing. Well, for a woman of sixty it was. As much as she hated to admit it, she was not quite back to full health, but she was perfectly able to teach.

The door creaked open. Minerva prepared to give one hundred reasons why she did not need this latest medication, but there was no need.

"Albus, what-?"

"Hello, Minerva."

He took a few steps inside and settled himself on the uncomfortable visitors' chair beside her bed.

"I see Pomona has visited already," he said, his eyes falling on the honking daffodil which Minerva had finally silenced by shoving it head first into its vase.

"Filus's present was much more enjoyable," agreed Minerva, gesturing at the large box of chocolate frogs.

Albus seemed to take this as an invitation, so he plucked a chocolate frog off the top of the stack and examined the card.

"Why do I always get myself?" he asked the ceiling.

It didn't have a response, so Albus chucked the card over his shoulder where it landed face up, occupant smiling serenely. Minerva turned her attention back to the real Albus.

"What are you doing here?"

"As Headmaster, I need to make sure my employees receive compensation for injuries on the job. I take it Dolores did not give you compensation?"

"That would require admitting that she hit me in the chest with a Stunner," Minerva said with an eye roll. "Besides, Albus, this is not your responsibility. You're not the Headmaster at the moment."

"I find your lack of faith disturbing. How did Delores get into my office? I thought I jinxed it to turn her into a toad if she attempted it."

"You did. However, on top of Filius's curse placed on your chair that would make her tap dance for the rest of her life, Pomona's lovely gift of a poisonous rose and Severus's 'tea', I thought it best for Dolores's safety and out jobs that I seal the office."

Albus laughed for a full minute. Minerva grinned as well, but she had a sneaking suspicion that her ribcage would explode if she joined in.

"How did you get past Hawk-Eye?"

"Hawk-Eye?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

"The Healer that's foiled my past three escape attempts."

He laughed again. It had been a long time since Minerva had seen him like this. War had once again taken its toll on him.

"I simply cast an Obliviate on him," Albus explained simply.

He sat down on the edge of Minerva's bed, having decided the chair was too uncomfortable to sit in any longer.

"How are you feeling?"

"Crazy? Slightly murderous?

"I thought as much."

Minerva could see the tiredness in his eyes. It was hard to miss the worry in the face of someone she had known for so long.

"What's wrong, Albus?"

"Lord Voldemort may be harder to destroy than I had previously hoped."

"What makes you think that?"

"I can't tell you."

"Secrets…it does not do to lock them up," Minerva quoted. "Why can't you tell me if you think secrets should not exist?"

Albus looked amused rather than chastised. "You remembered a conversation we had nearly forty years ago simply to turn my own words against me?"

"Yes, I did."

"You are cleverer than people give you credit for, Minerva McGonagall. However, I must keep this a secret."

Minerva gave him the same glance she now called the "Weasley Look" because of the amount of time Fred and George had spent under it.

"But you will tell Potter?"

"When the time comes, yes, Harry must know."

"And yet I can't?"

He smiled sadly and got to his feet.

"Minerva, I would trust you with my life, but not this."

"You're saying this is bigger than you?"

"It's far bigger than I am, Minerva."

She sighed. It always was.

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"What's happened to your hand?"

Albus waved away her concerns with his whole hand. The other lay limp and decaying on his desk. Minerva was surprised to see it move.

"Nothing of importance."

"Nothing of—nothing of importance?" Albus, it looks as if it's been dipped in the River Styx!"

"I appreciate the metaphor, but the River Styx would have granted it new life, not killed it," he said disinterestedly, turning the ring on his finger back and forth.

It was jet black, set in a fine gold band that had been dusted with the grime of generations. The most fascinating trait was a jagged scar down the middle of the ring.

"Does this have anything to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Voldemort, Minerva. Or as I prefer to refer to him as, Riddle. And yes."

"You still can't tell me?"

Albus took a sheaf of parchment and retrieved his glasses from Fawkes. (The bird had a strange fascination with the gold spectacles.) He took his quill, dipped it in ink and began to write. Minerva held out her arm and Fawkes descended on it. Rather than look at what Albus was writing, she stroked the phoenix's fiery plumage.

"When all is lost," said Albus, stamping the Hogwarts seal on the letter, "open this."

Minerva was unfazed by the strange request. Albus had been quirky like that as of late.

"Good night, Albus."

"Good night."

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Minerva surfaced form the Pensieve, gasping as if she had been underwater the entire time. Heart pounding, she staggered like a drunkard to the desk. Opening it, her breath caught. There it was. The letter he'd intended for her darkest hour. Well, this was certainly it.

_ Dear Minerva,_

_ I would start off saying something trite, like 'If you're reading this I am dead', but we both know I am a far cleverer man than that. It takes a strong woman to go through what you did, Minerva, so that's how I will start instead. I am proud of you. I am more proud of you than the written word could ever express, and I highly doubt I will ever tell you in person, so this is it. I could have never hoped for a better confident, successor or friend._

_ First and foremost, you are probably encountering some difficulties assuming the role of Headmistress. If I am correct, (Pardon my big head, but I usually am) then things have gone downhill since my death. You must let it happen—sit down, Minerva!—I know what I'm doing._

_ Second, when it is all said and down, I want you to have my Pensieve. Allow Harry to use it if he wants. Watch every memory of mine, Minerva, so you can understand why I did what I did._

_ Thirdly, Minerva, you are a talented witch and the only one who ever attempted to keep up with me. You were my faithful friend for nearly half a century. I began to think of you as a surrogate daughter, and hopefully you felt the same. (Not that I was like your daughter, of course.) You were my family when I had none. You were the light in the darkness of war, and I can never thank you enough._

_ Lastly, a quote from an astute Muggle. "Friendship, is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…it has no survival value…rather, it is friendship that gives value to survival.' You have made my life all the richer, Minerva, gave 'value to my survival' so to speak. It is with a heavy heart that I truly say goodbye, Minerva. I regret not being there for you, but you are more than capable of protecting my—our—students. Goodbye, Minerva._

_Love,_

_Albus_

Minerva clutched the letter like a lifeline. It was wonderful to see his handwriting again, sweeping and elegant down to the strange way he made his _f_.

"Minerva, is there a problem?" asked an icy voice.

Severus was coming. Quickly, she crossed the rom and threw open the cabinet where all the memories were stored. She took the ones labeled _Minerva _in her fist. Severus opened the door to the headmaster's office.

"What's taken you so long?" he hissed, his eyes roving over her and the office, trying to see what was amiss.

"Oh, just remembering," Minerva said airily.

His eyes fell on the two bottles in her hand.

"It would be a shame if—"

The bottles dropped like Dumbledore had from the tower and smashed against the floor. Severus made a futile grab at the fine silvery mist that arose from the shattered glass skeletons of the bottles. Minerva smirked as it rose between his fingers. Flushing a deep scarlet, he turned on her.

"Your students will pay for this, Minerva."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll pay for much more than broken bottles, Severus. I'm told Seamus Finnegan has a wicked taste for revenge."

"Get out!"

Minerva smiled at the empty perch where Fawkes had presided, the throne-like chair that Albus had rested in late at night, and the chair opposite it where she had spent so much time.

"Ladies, gentlemen," she said with a nod in the direction of the portraits.

"Goodbye, Minerva," they responded in unison.

Albus Dumbledore might be dead, but she was going to live on.

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Pale yellow light streamed across the grounds, completely unaware it was far too bright for the grim setting. The horrors that had happened the previous night seemed far away in the light of day. There was a school to put together, parents of dead students to contact and a small speech to make so the Prophet reporters would leave her alone, but there was something Minerva wanted to do first. The memory of lightning splitting the sky was clear in her mind. She could still see the destruction of her friend's final resting place.

There it was, blindingly white in the sun, ugly black marks scorching its surface. The top of the tomb was torn off and halfway submerged in the lake. It had been fully under, but Seamus Finnegan, Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley had made it their priority to restore their former headmaster's tomb. Unfortunately for them, they had been caught midway through the job.

"Scourgify!"

The algae, which had been crawling up the slab of marble, vanished. Minerva tapped it sharply with her wand and levitated it back into place. Muttering enchantments, she drew her wand over the deep black scars, melding them back.

Pleased with her handiwork, Minerva took a step back. It didn't look quite right yet. Unconsciously, she put a hand in her pocket, her fingers brushing the top of a well-worn piece of parchment. Smiling, she began the neat inscription: '_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…it has no survival value…rather it is friendship that gives value to survival.' _

A rare smile crossed Minerva's face as she conjured a bouquet of roses to lie on his grave. No, not red. Yellow. The color changed with the flick of her wrist.

"Goodbye, Albus," she said.

And with that, Minerva McGonagall strode back up to the castle. She had a school to run.

**Word Count: 9,694**

**Prompt: Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…it has no survival value…rather, it is friendship that gives value to survival.**

**Competition: The Yellow Rose Bowel Competition.**

**Thanks so much for reading through this monstrosity. I've been wondering about the relationship between the two; to me it's always been platonic. So here's this little gem to show from it. Please do me a favor and review!**


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